It's Always You
by I'mDatingTheReceptionist
Summary: A more angsty re-write of the casket scene in The Final Problem. JxS, J/S.


"Coffin. Problem: someone is about to die. It will be – as I understand it – a tragedy."

Sherlock slowly circles the coffin, gun in hand, as his gaze flickers from it to Eurus' face. He swallows around the lump in his throat as she continues on, and her tone drops to a reminiscent one...though he knows she's faking it.

"So many days not lived, so many words unsaid. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera-"

Sherlock waves his gun hand impatiently, "Yes, and this – I presume – will be their coffin?"

Eurus smiles, tilting her head in wonderment, " _Whose_ coffin, Sherlock? Please, start your deductions. I will apply some context in a moment."

Sherlock sighs, exasperated, and stops at the foot of the coffin. John and Mycroft stand either side of him, both watching and waiting for him to speak, while Eurus sits forward in her chair and eyes the three in feigned curiosity.

He waves his hand again and his gaze darts across the wood, his fingers running along the edge of it, "Well, allowing for the entirely pointless courtesy of headroom, I'd say this coffin is intended for someone of about five foot four. Makes it more likely to be a woman -"

"Why a woman, Sherlock?" Eurus cuts in. All heads turn to her, and Sherlock frowns when he sees her lips stretch into a smile, "Why not a man? A man can be short, can't he?"

Sherlock blinks. That hadn't even occurred to him, though he doesn't know _why_. His deduction just..came out without a second thought. He looks dumbly back at the coffin as he presses the butt of the gun to his forehead to think. "Yes, er - well, a man, then." He pauses for a moment to continue, momentarily thrown at Eurus' interruption, "This is a practical and informed choice. Balance of probability suggests that this is for an unmarried man distant from his close relatives. That much is suggested by the economy of choice. Acquainted with the process of death but unsentimental about the necessity of disposal. Also, the lining of the coffin…"

He stops short when something occurs to him. He frowns and looks up at the screen to see his sisters gaze hasn't wavered, "You said you would give me some context."

Eurus' smile falls, but only for a second, "Oh, that's right. I did, didn't I?"

She presses a button and a panel on the wall to his right opens up. The three watch as a silver pistol slides out and silently fires a bullet into Johns leg, and just like that, Sherlocks world collapses as he watches him fall to the floor.

Everything becomes a blur at that point. Sherlock feels panic seize him as he rushes to his side, and he can see Mycrofts eyes light up in rage towards their sister. Johns face is contorted in pain, and he's breathing hard.

"She...shot me, Sherlock."

Sherlock swallows around the lump in his throat, "I know." He begins to fumble for the fabric around the wound, and his hands are trembling violently as he tears the cotton away. Behind him, Mycroft is having a good talk with Eurus, and though his composure is calm, he can see his facade is slowly breaking when he notices John is still on the ground.

Sherlocks face pales when he catches sight of the bullet, "Um...I….J-John, what do I do? I've never...done this before…."

John takes a deep breath, and his words come out strangled, "Y-You um...christ, this hurts - you have to…"

But Sherlock doesn't hear it.

His eyes fly open and he realises with a start that he's in a blindingly white room. A very familiar room, that is.

No Eurus, or Mycroft. And certainly no Sherrinford. He frowns when he takes notice of a complete calm that has enveloped him suddenly, and as he looks around, slowly taking it in, he instantly reels back when it dawns on him - it's the exact same room he and the cabbie were in when he had been forced to choose between those two pills.

But the cabbie isn't here. And neither are the pills.

As if on cue, Sherlock looks down at the long table, and his heart plummets when he sees an unconscious John lain before him in a hospital gown. The bullet is still lodged in his leg, and to Sherlocks horror, it's slowly bleeding out. His face is chalk white, but he looks so peaceful, which unnerves him to no end.

"Don't tell me you deleted the file on basic first aid, you idiot."

Sherlocks eyes go up, but he doesn't move away at the conscious John figure across from him. He has his hands in the pockets of his cardigan, and is smiling softly at him, and once again, a calmness strikes through him from just having John there.

"I...No, of course not. It is necessary, after all."

"Good." Johns smile is smug for a brief second, "Because this is going to need more than a simple patch up job." He glances down at the wound, as if reminiscing, but Sherlock keeps his eyes on him.

"What do I do?"

John snorts, "Get the bullet out, obviously."

"How?"

"We're in your mind palace, Sherlock." He looks around. "There must be something in one of these rooms that'll help."

In a flash, he's out the door and's sprinting through the hallway, throwing open every door until he finds the one with his and Johns first meeting at Barts. Mike and Then-Sherlock are absent, as was the cabbie and the pills from the first room, but the John from then is seated at a table, typing away at Sherlocks laptop. His cane is resting beside him, and the sight makes something knot in Sherlocks chest, but he shakes the thought from his mind and wanders around, looking for anything that'll help.

He goes over to where he had been working then, and spots a pair of tweezers in a dish he'd been using. Grabbing them, he hurries back to the first room, where Mind Palace John is looking in what could only be described as fondness at his unconscious self. When Sherlock comes in, however, he looks up and his face is alight when he holds them out,

"Ah, good, you found them."

John silently watches as Sherlock takes a seat so he's at the same height as the body. Narrowing his eyes, he works slowly and carefully to get the bullet out, though like before, his hands are shaking and he keeps bumping the ends of the tweezers against the bullet. He sighs in frustration, and contemplates handing them over to Mind Palace John (though he knows there's hardly no point in that), but before he can mull a further second over that idea, MP John reaches out to take his hand in his and Sherlock stills in place.

"Sherlock, look at me."

The tenderness in his voice has him raise his eyes up, and he's not surprised in the slightest when Johns face is completely relaxed, "You have to focus." He laughs softly at Sherlocks expression, "It'll be okay, trust me. I won't feel anything."

Sherlock swallows and goes back to working. With MP Johns hand covering his, he just manages to steady himself enough to get the bullet out. A relieved sigh escapes him and his body sags against the chair, the tweezers and bullet dropped back on the table. John lets go of his hand, but still watches him,

"Now what?"

Sherlocks eyes run over the body. With the bullet gone, the artery is open and blood is currently streaming over the skin and onto the tabletop. MP John glances from him to the body, but Sherlock doesn't need to be told twice. He's done this before. With a sigh, he untangles his scarf and quickly wraps it around Johns leg, making sure to knot it tight to stop the blood flow.

When that's done, he dares another peek at Johns face, and all the breath leaves him when he sees it's much paler than it had been prior.

"I've lost some blood, Sherlock." MP John presses his lips together, but doesn't continue. Sherlock frowns at him,

"But I stopped the wound from -

MP Johns face is soft, "I know, but I'll still need to go to the hospital to have this stitched up. Even you know that."

Sherlock looks around the room, although he's still in his Mind Palace, "How do we get out? I don't know what to do in this round."

MP John smiles, "Finish her game. That's what she said, didn't she?"

"Yes, but how?"

He reaches out to cup his face, "You're Sherlock Holmes. You'll figure it out."

Sherlock closes his eyes at his touch, but is suddenly ripped back to reality when he hears Mycrofts voice, though distant, yelling at him. He spins around and is met with his brother holding the coffins lid, a smug smile on his face.

"Oh, there you are, brother dear. Have a nice trip?" He gestures to John, and Sherlocks chest pangs when he sees a white bandage is tied around his leg and the bullet is a far distance from his body, though the tweezers are gone.

"Did I do that?" He looks dumbly up at his brother, who rolls his eyes.

"Of course not. I told Eurus to help us out a little. Give us a few hints to her game, shall we say."

Sherlock almost deflates, "Oh. Right. Where is she?"

He nods to the screen and Sherlock follows his gaze. Eurus is still there, but she's gone strangely quiet and is simply watching the events unfold in front of her. He looks back at his brother, "Why are you holding that?"

Mycroft smiles, "Eurus' game isn't over yet, Sherlock. It seems we have one more thing to do before moving on to the next round." He turns it around, and when Sherlock sees what's written on the plate, his entire body freezes up, "While you were running about in your Mind Palace, our little sister very graciously told me the meaning behind this golden plaque. Apparently, this coffin is for somebody who loves you." He raises his brow, "I'm assuming that isn't a long list, brother mine."

Sherlock slowly turns back to John, who's lying still on the floor. Ignoring Mycroft behind him, Sherlock takes off his jacket and folds it as a makeshift pillow to tuck underneath his head. Like the body in his Mind Palace, his skin has gone a chalk white, and in an instant, panic swallows his entire being.

He can almost feel MP Johns warm hand on his cheek, and he draws in a deep breath. As he looks at John again, the panic gradually recedes and instead hot tears well in his eyes. He swallows hard, but they keep coming, and he sniffs as he chokes out, "We need to get him to the hospital."

Eurus speaks up, "You have to finish my game, Sherlock."

He whirls around to glare at her, but Mycroft interjects in a an apologetic tone, "I'm sorry, Sherlock. We can't leave until we have completed this round."

Sherlock gives both of them an ugly look, "Alright."

Mycroft moves away to place the coffin lid back on the wall and Eurus still watches Sherlock tend to John, but remains quiet. Though Mycroft had given her an ear full, she's still interested to see how this will go down. Specifically, how Sherlock will work with this part of the round.

Sherlock closes his eyes as tear drops fall on Johns shirt, "It's John, isn't it?"

Mycroft folds his arms, "Hm?"

"Who the coffin belongs to - it's John. Think about it; he's practical about death, unmarried, not close to his relatives, and…" He stops. He can't finish his sentence.

So Mycroft does it for him, his voice soft.

"And he loves you."

Sherlock nods, only now opening his eyes. Still here. He wipes his cheeks and is about to speak again, when he sees John eyes slowly open, though only halfway. When he notices Sherlock gazing down at him, he smiles warmly.

"Sherlock, you did it." His voice is weak and Sherlock blinks back more tears. John lets out a short laugh and reaches up to catch them, "Don't cry, you moron. I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"Of course you are." Mycroft speaks from behind them. "But we'll be sending you to Bartholomews Hospital when this is all over."

"When will this all be over?" None of them say anything and John looks to Sherlock for an answer, "Who was the coffin for, Sherlock? Molly?"

Sherlock snorts in disbelief, "You can't be serious, John."

"Who then?"

His only response is silence. Sherlock smiles down at him, and for a few seconds, Johns mind begins throwing out every possible candidate….Until…

 _Oh._

His cheeks turn pink, "It's me, isn't it?"

Sherlock shrugs, "Wouldn't make sense if it was Irene, would it?"

John begins to laugh, but winces when pain shoots up his leg. Sherlock frowns, "You alright?"

"Yeah...Yeah, I'm okay. Wouldn't hurt to finish this round a bit quicker, though. I'm really hoping to get to the hospital soon."

"Right." Sherlock lets out a breath, and looks away when he feels himself start to blush. John reaches up to hold his hand and waits for Sherlock to meet his gaze before saying those four words,

"I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock gives his hand a gentle squeeze as all the tension leaves his body, and his voice almost drops to a whisper, "I love you too, John." He pauses, "Games over, Eurus. You can let us go now."

Behind them, Eurus scoffs, "Fine, you win."

The door furthest from them opens and Sherlock almost wants to gripe at the typical-ness of it. But he swallows it and gently lifts John to his feet, slinging his jacket over his shoulder as he has Johns arm go across the back of his neck. He winds a hand around his waist and the two slowly go to the door with Mycroft ahead. Instead of another room, they're met with cool wind on their faces and the stars shining down on them. As they venture more out onto the beach, they're not surprised to find a helicopter is waiting for them, and Sherlock hoists John up before climbing in himself, and Mycroft following after. Sherlock gives John his jacket again and Mycroft sits a distance away from them as they're flown back to London.


End file.
